Hall of Fame
by rickyrodgers
Summary: Kate Beckett lives and breathes gymnastics. Rick Castle is a freelance journalist looking for a gripping story heading into the Rio Olympics. Gymnast!AU. Inspired by a prompt on castlefanficprompts. For the Summer 2015 Ficathon.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is my first foray into the world of fanfic writing, so any kind constructive advice would be highly appreciated. This story is a response to a prompt posted to the castlefanficprompts blog on tumblr, with Kate as a gymnast and Castle as a journalist following the progress of the U.S team. Many thanks to Dee (alwayswritewithcoffee) for being an amazing beta and Emily (Oliviet) and Evelyn for the constant stream of encouragement and cheerleading while I was freaking out about writing. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

For a spectator, the uneven bars would appear to be a mix of monkey bar swinging and flying higher than any human should without the help of a plane. To an untrained eye, it looked like lots of fun. For a gymnast, the reality was quite different.

In training, it was about the pursuit of perfection. Soaring between the bars with pirouettes, flips, and other tricks meant to allow one to stand out from the pack. It was exhausting but, for those dedicated enough, the payoff was enormous. Nothing could compare to landing a routine perfectly in competition to the adulation of a roaring crowd, the adrenaline pumping just hard enough to block out sore muscles.

Kate Beckett knew the experience well. You didn't become, nor could you remain, an elite gymnast without some sort of love for the blood, sweat, and pain caused by the sport.

Still, its something that she has to remind herself of as she prepares to mount the lower uneven bar for the hundredth time that day. Practicing drills are exhausting, but necessary. After all, they led to stronger muscle memory and better routines. Better routines led to a stronger athlete. A stronger athlete equaled bigger scores.

Pushing herself up into a handstand, Kate holds the position for a couple of seconds. In a flash, she swings her legs down towards the bar until her body is bent double, hands gripping tight against the chalky rod. She shoves her body around the lower bar, legs shooting back straight up into the air for the original handstand position. One half second pause for breath and for gravity, Kate balances her body weight on her hands and wrists, spinning them a full 360 degrees while maintaining a ruler straight line for the rest of her frame.

Then she does the entire move again. And again. And again, until her arms burn and her hands can't grip the bar anymore.

That was how it went in her chosen sport. Pushing one's body to the extreme to pull off skills that looked incredibly easy to the novice's eye.

With her feet back on solid ground, Kate wipes the sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. She spies her coach, Montgomery, working with a smaller gymnast on one of the balance beams. As one of the older gymnasts, Kate was able to practice drills by herself a lot of the time, having enough experience to make sure that she was going in the right direction.

Like most days, the gym was bustling as young gymnasts in leotards of every colour started to trickle in for midday practice after finishing school. Kate could remember her own days of going from practice to school to another practice, and even years removed from that life, she doesn't envy the girls trying to maintain the delicate balance. Keeping up her school work and sport even during grade school was not an easy feat. Taking a break from university was the best decision she could have made coming back to elite gymnastics.

Brushing the chalk off of her leotard, she ignores the background noise of the others, already thinking ahead to her second set of drills. Being mentally prepared was just as important as being physically capable.

The voice that speaks up behind her doesn't seem to know that.

"Kate Beckett?"

A glance across her right shoulder reveals a man not that much older than her. He's taller than she is, blue eyes wide with appreciation after apparently witnessing her earlier drills. His shoulder bag slips as he offers his hand for her to shake, and in his haste to put the strap back into place, she slides one quick hand over her scalp to tame the flyaways that are noticeable in the corners of her vision.

That move costs her valuable time in removing her grip, the leather of her hand protection for the uneven bars sticking against her skin while she works on removing it. With her right hand finally free, Kate slips it into the one that the man is still extending in her direction; realizing a second too late that it is covered in chalk.

He doesn't seem to mind, wiping the white residue on his jeans without comment.

"That was awesome!" he says with a smile, "I mean, I've seen you do that in competition videos, but it looks much more impressive in person. I think my favorite part is before though, when you jump from the low bar to the high bar...the one with the half flip?" There's a small pause where he snaps his finger in frustration, nose scrunched up while he strains for the word, "I swear I know what it's called I just can't remember it."

"A shaposh half," Kate replies, trying her best not to grin.

"Yeah, that!" he nods, those blue eyes growing wide, "I didn't introduce myself. Rick Castle, I'm a freelance journalist, but _First Press_ has hired me to do some stories on the upcoming Olympic Trials. One of those articles is about you."

That news takes her aback. Kate can feel her eyebrows lifting in surprise, even when the rest of her grows apprehensive. The press hadn't always been her best friend. The last time Kate had faced any media scrutiny had been four years ago during the lead up to the 2012 Olympics in London, right when everything had gone wrong.

 _So, how do you feel having come so close and just barely missing out? What's it going to be like watching the games from home?_

An ACL tear was supposed to be career ending in any sport. For her, the timing of the injury - one week before the Trials for London - had been as emotionally crushing as the injury itself. Her life goal had been shattered by over rotating her hardest vault, and she'd been forced to watch from the sidelines while her teammates competed for the spot that had been meant for her.

That punishment had paled to watching from home in a cast as Team USA took home gold. Gabby Douglas snagging the All-Around Gold Medal had just been insult to an already painful injury.

But Kate had rehabbed, put her life back together piece by piece and tried not to dwell. She'd gone to Stanford on a full ride college gymnastics scholarship and had gained a new set of teammates, but the 'what if' had never left. That constant whisper was part of the reason why she decided to defer a year of post secondary education and come back to elite training.

She knew she was capable of getting back to her previous level of competition, and Kate refused to look back on the Rio Summer Games without knowing she'd given it her all.

This year was going to be different, starting with lowering her expectations for herself. Yes, she wanted to make the Olympic team, but this time she was prepared for failure.

"I haven't even made the team yet," she mutters, buying time by unhooking the grip still fitted to her left hand. Of all people, Kate knew just how easily a dream could fall apart when it seemed like it was a certain thing. "Why would you want to do a story on someone who might not make it?"

Rick Castle just shrugs, wholly unconvinced. "Please. There's no doubt that you'll do it this time. Everyone knows how close you came to making that team for London. Besides, people want to know the story. Where is the girl who almost became New York City's pride and joy during the 2012 Olympics?"

Kate scoffs. "I'm not the person I was four years ago."

"No one is," he counters. "Four years ago I was in my junior year of college, and trying to make myself known on the poetry slam scene. My work warranted boos from the crowd instead of the glowing praise I thought I'd get. Complex emotion was just too much for the open mic crowd."

She doesn't know what to say to that. "So um, speaking of your writing," Kate begins warily, "What exactly do you want to do?"

"Well, the plan is to swing by every few weeks to check up on your progress for a series of blog posts that we're doing between editions of the magazine. Y'know, following the tales of athletes as they attempt to make their dreams come true." He shrugs. "The public loves inspirational stories. Coming back after a loss and fighting against adversity and all that."

Kate raises her eyebrows at his summary. "Is Montgomery even okay with this?" Speaking of the man, where _was_ her coach? Swinging her head around, a quick survey of the gym found Montgomery exactly where she'd last seen him, working with another gymnast next to one of the balance beams. This time, the man noticed her look, giving a cheerful wave that Rick Castle returned eagerly. Huh. Apparently, her coach had known the reporter was coming, not that he'd bothered to warn her beforehand. Though if he had she would have likely shut down the idea before he had even stepped onto the training floor.

"He is indeed," the writer said. "His words were ' _It'll be good for her._ ' He seems to think that your comeback is a thing that should be shared. Though I think praised is a better term. And I believe he's concerned that you are isolating yourself; at least he mentioned something like that."

Her mouth is already open to protest all of it, a muscle beginning to tick with agitation in her jaw even as he holds up both hands. Supplication and surrender. _Blame him and not me._ "His words, not mine."

"You don't even know how I train," Kate sighs. "And I don't want to give anyone false expectations. Bad things happen all the time and there's no guarantee that I'm even going to make the team. I was a lock to make it last time, and I didn't. No one can say it'll be different this year."

"Nothing is guaranteed in life, I get that." he replies, "Injuries happen, obstacles get in the way, so does life. That doesn't mean you should hide out until you meet your goal." Rick shrugs at her again, one hand clutching at his messenger bag, "You've accomplished something impressive already. And, besides all that, no athlete has a guarantee to compete until they touch the floor at the Olympics."

She raises a doubtful eyebrow in his direction. Being in this gym, being back in this city after two years in California was like coming home. She knew this place, she knew these people but unlike most of the others, Kate didn't mind training alone. Besides that, her added age and additional competition experience basically required her to go at most of her work solo.

"Oh, c'mon!" Rick exclaims off her long look, "It will be a great way to tell the story from your point of view, to let the world know who you really are."

"Last time I checked, I'm not the onewriting these blog posts," Kate counters, crossing her arms over her chest, one gesture shy of tapping her foot with impatience.

"What if I let you have tons of input?" he asks, flashing her another one of those charming smiles, "I won't write anything that will make you look bad. Consider it to be journalistic integrity and all that. You'll be like my muse or something."

She can't help her snort of amusement; the sound bubbling out of her before Kate has a hope of trapping it. Thankfully, the writer only grins wider at the noise. "Muse, really? If I'm going to let you do this, you have to promise never to say that again, Mr. Castle."

"Noted," he says with a wink. "But Kate? Call me Rick."

* * *

She leaves her very determined shadow by the uneven bars with a promise of coming back with a final decision. Even if Montgomery had given the okay for a magazine story, Kate is determined to talk it over with her coach. Almost as determined as Rick seems to be in writing about her.

The same gymnast is still on the balance beam with their highly untraditional coach at her side while Kate picks her way past various other tumblers and younger girls stretched and prepping for a turn on the various apparatus. Yes, Montgomery took the training of his gymnasts quite seriously, but he always found time to joke around with them and keep things lighthearted. He also encouraged his students to find interests in their lives outside of gymnastics, so that any bad luck befalling them in the sport wouldn't tear them apart mentally.

Could that have been a reason for agreeing to this reporter's request?

Ever since deferring college her junior year to return home and train for the Rio Olympics, Kate's life had become drastically limited. She had gone from a college team full of like-minded peers to an environment that was quite different from how she'd left it. Her home gym no longer had friends her age, all of them off to colleges around the country. The remaining athletes were still in their middle school and high school years and definitely not the crowd of people that she was used to hanging out with. Not only were her social options limited; they were basically nonexistent.

She woke up, she trained, she went home to sleep and started again the next day.

Kate could concede that it was possible Montgomery wanted her to broaden her horizons a little. This was probably his unconventional way to get her to converse with people outside of her immediate, incredibly small circle. But with a _reporter_? She wasn't so sure that was the best idea.

Striding up to him, Kate waves at the little girl on the beam who is quick to respond with her own hand wiggle and a big smile. "Coach, can I have a word, please?" she asks, one tap on Montgomery's shoulder to grab his full attention.

The look her coach gives is one of feigned innocence; as if he hadn't noticed the wide eyed reporter standing by the uneven bars, taking in everything he could see around the gym. "Sure."

He doesn't make any attempt to move, and Kate sighs, gesturing at the little one standing near them. "In private?"

Montgomery is now the one having to concede something, leading her back across the floor to his office that is teaming with everything from bags of chalk to a pile of vivid yellow water bottles. She's grateful that he closes the door behind them, and Kate plops into one of the empty chairs, "With all due respect, Coach, do you really think letting a reporter write a series on me for _First Press_ is the best idea?"

"Press is not a bad thing, Kate. Other than your performances at Stanford, the last image most of the American public has of you is getting injured during trials. There were a lot of people rooting for you in this city, how happy do you think they're going to be if they see that you're training again for a chance at the Olympics? Even seeing an athlete attempt to reach their goals is enough for people." Montgomery smiles at her from his spot behind a desk crammed with files and DVDs of kids all clamoring for a spot in his gym. "Besides, you need _something_ to do besides train. That's all you do now. Speaking as your coach, I'm not upset about that at all. But keep it up like this and you're going to go stir crazy in this gym."

Kate rests her chin on one hand as she looks up at Montgomery. "I don't mind training. That's sort of why I'm trying for the Olympics again."

She loved all of it. The endless hours, the repetition, the dedication one had to pour into the sport to be successful. Kate adored it. More than that, she craved it. Gymnastics made her feel safe and powerful, teaching her that she could accomplish almost anything if she was willing to put in the effort.

"This could be good for you, you know," he begins, voice soft in an attempt to soothe the unconvinced look Kate shoots at him. "And it's not going to hurt your image either. There's no reason you can't snatch back the title of 'America's Sweetheart' from Gabby Douglas." Montgomery snorts at his own joke. Even four years later, he still finds humor in the title some overzealous journalist had saddled Kate with.

"Is there an age limit for that nickname? Can you imagine America's Sweetheart in her twenties? I can't," Kate laughs, giving a derisive shake of her head at the mental image of her photo and that headline plastered together. But Montgomery had a point. It truly couldn't hurt to foster some goodwill from a public who had mostly seemed to want her to succeed. Yes, Rick was a little overexcited and pushy, but it couldn't be any worse than the gym full of young girls training beside her and idolizing her. Besides, the Olympic Trials were only six weeks away. It wasn't as if she and the reporter would be in contact with each other for very long.

Stepping out of the office a few minutes later, Kate isn't surprised that he's standing right outside with the most expectant look on his face. She can't help but laugh a little as she approaches Rick; amusement flashing in her eyes at his slow grin.

"Okay, I'm in."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Oh my goodness, I did not expect such a supportive and positive response to this story! To everyone who reviewed the first chapter, thank you so much. And thank you Dee for continuing to be the best beta a girl could ever ask for.

* * *

Even with three thousand miles separating them, Kate can hear the amusement of her best friend's voice filtering through her phone.

"Kate, you should be flattered," Lanie Parish was laughing, cutting off yet another protest about Rick Castle and his article. She'd called her fellow Stanford teammate the moment she'd left the gym after meeting the journalist; frantic and anxious about what she'd just agreed to.

Lanie had found it hilarious, and no amount of texting and phone calls had changed that stance.

"Flattered?" Kate could feel the horror on her face as the walked down the block, phone pressed tightly against her ear to drown out the noise of Manhattan traffic, "I'm going with horrified."

"Girl, this writer boy sounds kinda cute, and he wants to write a bunch of articles about you. You're like his muse!" Her friend teases. Kate can imagine Lanie stretched out on her bed, music turned down low in the background and a pile of textbooks spread across the mattress for a few hours of studying.

"Not you too, Lanie," Kate groans, "That's exactly what he said."

"Oh c'mon, your little arrangement sounds like it'll be fun. I mean, you may be training for something amazing, but from what you've told me your life back home seems more boring than that philosophy course we took in freshman year. Rick seems like he can liven it up a little," her friend says, encouragement dripping from every syllable, "Just relax, go to lunch and see what happens."

The diner where Rick had asked her to meet was two doors down, packed with a noisy lunchtime crowd of professionals looking to eat on work breaks and students between classes.

Protesting is on the tip of her tongue, but Kate holds herself in check and gives a sigh, "I'll call you later," she promises her friend, missing the days where Lanie was a short walk through campus, instead of a five hour cross country flight.

"You'd better. I'm gonna need all the details on Mr. Castle and those pretty blue eyes you told me about." Lanie is still laughing when the call disconnects.

With a deep breath and a fond eye roll for her friend, Kate pushes open the door to the diner while trying not to dwell on the past two days of agonizing about her first interview with the journalist. It'd have been better if they had gotten it over with that first day because she wouldn't have had time to dwell, but between her gruelling training regimen and Rick's bustling career, the hours where their schedules matched up had been few and far between.

Stepping through the glass door, she scans the booths and tables until she spots Rick in the crowd. He's nestled in a corner booth beside the window, away from most of the noise at the center of the room while affording them a view of everyone else eating their lunches.

He doesn't look surprised when Kate slides onto the bench across from him with her container of greens and grilled chicken. While he'd recommended the burgers and named the spot as a favourite in the city in a text, elite training dictated a strict diet so that she could perform to the best of her abilities. Burgers, sadly, weren't on the list of acceptable foods.

"Ah, the competitor's diet," he says as she pops the lid on her lunch, "Asking you to meet me here was inconsiderate."

She brushes him off good naturedly when he brings it up, reassuring him that the only thing she really missed were the shakes, and in a couple months she'd have some in celebration after the Olympics.

A waitress swings by with menus as Kate settles in the booth, resting her bag on the bench. Rick orders a burger and fries, making her promise to try those with the shake in a couple of months. Kate requests a water.

Rick turns to her as the waitress leaves, noticing her name brand athletic sweater hiding the top of a training leotard underneath. "Just finished morning practice, huh? Can't say I envy you having to wake up early for that."

Kate raises her eyebrows. "It wasn't really _that_ early," she starts, "The morning one's only from seven until eleven. Not bad."

"Not bad?" Rick chokes out slightly, "Okay, the earliest I have to be awake is around ten, unless I have a meeting. Seven is just criminal. And for physical activity too."

She snorts. "You know, the rest of the working world has to get up even earlier to get to work on time. Busy mornings in the city are actually nice."

In the five blocks it takes her to get to the gym from her dad's apartment, Kate has to push her way through kids on their way to school, commuters late for work, and shops and vendors opening up for the day. It was quite different from her mornings at Stanford, where a walk to morning practice would see a campus mostly sleeping in save for fellow athletes, as classes didn't begin until eight.

Rick nods at her earlier statement, dubious. "I'll have to take your word for it. So, how was that morning practice?

"Not bad," Kate shrugs as she leans back to rest against the booth. "It's mostly just strengthening exercises and flexibility work in the morning, so nothing new on the gymnastics front. How was yours?"

"Unfortunately, today was one of those days where I _did_ have a meeting and had to wake up early," Rick says, with a forlorn sigh, "All those hours of sleep lost. I met with another magazine I write for to bring them up to speed about a different story I have going on."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, but this one's not in the realm of sports," he says, eyes twinkling. "You ever heard of bone broth?"

" _What?"  
_

He laughs at her comical expression of confusion. "Another new craze that trendy New Yorkers have adopted. Or in this case, ingested."

While waiting for food to arrive, Rick spends the next ten minutes explaining to her the 'magical' properties of the soup, and how it has become a must have in any person's kitchen who considers themselves caught up with the trends. Apparently, shops selling the meal have lineups down the block, filled with people desperate to get a taste of the new 'it' food.

Despite her earlier hesitations about Rick, Kate finds herself having a blast, his journalist brain embellishing the storytelling with wild twists and turns.

As the food arrives, Rick produces his iPhone from his messenger bag with a small wave, signalling the transition from pleasure to business. "Do you mind if I record the interview?" he asks, the voice memo app already cued up and waiting when he places the phone in the middle of the table. "It'll help me out later on when I'm writing."

"That's fine," Kate shrugs, "So, what are you planning to cover for the very first article?"

His eyes light up as he leans forward, forearms resting on the table top. "It's going to give both avid fans and those just discovering the sport a little history on you – how you started in gymnastics, how you rose up the ranks, how you ended up where you are now."

She nods, expecting as much. "A life story." It seems a daunting task, to compile her entire life in paragraphs of text.

"Something like that, yeah," Rick replies with a quick bob of his head, reaching out to tap the recording app to life. The ticker begins to scroll, sound waves spreading across the screen as the microphone picks up the sounds of New Yorkers eating their lunches and, a moment later, Kate's first official question. "How did you get started with gymnastics?"

It's a good one to start with, the sort that draws up a smile while she considers the memory. He's discreet with withdrawing his notebook and pen from the bag, flipping to a blank page and scrawling Kate's name, their location, the date and time at the top. Next thing she knows, he's dumped a mountain of ketchup onto his plate trailing one fry through the condiment until it's dripping red.

"I'm an only child," Kate begins, watching Rick pop the fry into his mouth with relish. "No siblings to follow into any other sport. But I was an active kid, and when I was three my parents carted me off to a recreational gymnastics class. The story my parents told is that I kept jumping off all the furniture in our apartment, and scaring them half to death. So, if I was going to flip and twist around, they wanted me at least to do it safely."

Recreational classes had been over 15 years ago, but Kate can still recall the group of small, uncoordinated children, herself included, clamoring over foam shapes and running across the floor. It had been so different from her training now. But these days, after her morning practice session had ended, she usually got a glance of the younger ones that were just getting into gymnastics for fun. It made her happy to watch the scramble of the kids to start their class, their parents watching like hawks through the windows.

"Did you fall in love with it immediately? For some people it just starts as a hobby that they grow to love, but there are others who just seem to recognize their passion right away," Rick says, glancing up from his notebook scribbles between bites of his burger to flash an easy smile at her.

It uncoils something inside Kate, relaxes her mind and eases her fears. Talking about this isn't difficult. "Instant love," she grins, "I tried other things; ballet, piano lessons, I even did soccer one little league season, but I hated all of them. I just wanted to know when my next gymnastics lesson would be and what sort of cool things I would get to try next. My piano teacher gave up on me pretty quickly," she pauses to laugh, color blushing a light pink across her cheeks with the memory even as Kate shrugs it off, "Not that it bothered me very much. My parents weren't happy about it when I quit the other things, but they could see my love was focused all on gymnastics. I remember in grade school that I absolutely loved the opportunity to surprise my friends with being able to do a cartwheel and the splits.

Rick gives a chuckle at that recollection, tilting his head for a long look that she can't quite read, "Have you always had the ambition and the drive that's helped you be successful in the sport, or is that something you've developed over time?"

She has to consider the question for a moment, reflecting on her years of long practices and weighing it against the excitement of moving up to higher competition levels. "Since it was something I adored, putting in the effort wasn't too hard. Even when I was little, I loved attempting skills over and over again and watching my coach light up when I got something for the first time. But advancing to another level was exciting, too. Each new one meant different skills I had to learn and my friends were all in the gym, so I never really felt like I was missing anything. My friend Maddie went at the same pace as me, and we always had a competition in practice to see who would perfect something faster. It was fun, you know? I had someone to share the journey with."

Sometimes they had even mastered a skill at the same time. They had spent one morning learning a front somersault for floor exercise, and landed the skill on the same attempt. There had been a lot of squealing and hugging after that, even their coach had laughed at them.

Giving a shake of her head at the memory, Kate watches Rick's eyes widen at the name _Maddie,_ mouth working double time to chew and swallow his large bite of a half-eaten burger."Are you talking about Madison Queller, one of the members of the London Olympic team?" He says most of it with his hand over his mouth, still working to swallow his food. The action is followed by a long swig of his drink.

"…Yeah, that would be her." Kate replies, feeling her warm, happy memories of her younger years evaporate at the reminder of more recent trials. She wouldn't lie to herself by saying it hadn't hurt when Maddie had made the team in 2012. Even with similar rises to the top of the Team USA prospects list, Maddie's hadn't been marred by an injury at the wrong time. She had gone on to win team gold with the rest of the American girls and even snagged a balance beam silver medal for herself, all while Kate was struggling at home with crutches.

Maddie had been sympathetic to her situation, but the two of them didn't have much contact around the time of the Olympics. With all the media hype and coverage focused on the team, her friend's life was a whirlwind of excitement. Kate couldn't - and didn't - blame her for not staying in touch. It was easy to get swept up in the rewards of success. Maddie, along with all the other gymnasts, deserved it after doing so well.

Kate only wished that she had been there with them.

It had taken a year and a half for the Olympic hype to truly die down. But Maddie had chosen to go to college at UCLA and compete for the Bruins gymnastics team, and being at Stanford had allowed the two of them to stay in touch on a regular basis. College gym meets, emails, text messages kept them close all throughout their freshman and sophomore years.

Kate makes a mental note to text Maddie once she's finished at the diner, realizing that a couple weeks have passed since they talked. Unlike Kate, Madison was still in school, doubling up on summer classes to stay on track with graduating on time.

Rick listens with rapt eyes, intrigued by the introduction of her friend. "She was with you when you tore your ACL, right?"

"Yeah, she was," Kate mumbles, thinking back to the fateful day four years ago. "The two of us were practicing vault with Coach Montgomery, a couple of weeks before the London trials. At that time, I had almost mastered a vault called the Amanar-"

"Ooh, that's the one with a round-off, back handspring, and then 2.5 twists off of the vaulting table, right?" Rick interrupts, gesturing his hands in an attempt to describe the skill as his voice rises in pitch with his excitement.

"That would be correct," she says with a laugh. Rick's working knowledge of the sport was entertaining to see. It's cute in a way, how excited he gets at things that have become so routine to her. His fascination with the skills that she practiced daily gives her an insight as to how gymnastics appeared to others. More fan perception, less expert opinion.

"Do you...would you mind talking about the day you were injured?" The previous excitement has gone from their booth, leaving a quiet and almost somber atmosphere.

She almost doesn't answer. Kate considers simply declining and glossing over the whole incident, but she knows that would be the coward's way out. So she takes a deep breath, focuses her eyes on the tabletop and just talks.

"Since Trials were so close, Montgomery decided that I could practice landing on a harder mat like we would see in competition. Until that day, I had been landing in the soft foam pit while I was learning the skill. On my first try with the new surface, I underestimated how far the floor would be and drove in my twists a little too far into the ground, and I over rotated my body." She cringes at the memory.

Kate hasn't forgotten the loud popping sound that came from below her as she landed, or the confusion at where the sound originated. Initially, she had told herself that the floorboards beneath the mat had somehow broken. There was no way that such a noise had come from inside her _leg._

"It actually didn't hurt right away," she continues with a shrug, "Probably because I hadn't realized what had happened. But then I tried to support my weight on my legs and I just couldn't. It was like my left leg crumpled as soon as I put some pressure on it and my right leg followed close after. So I sat for a few minutes and then tried again, and I couldn't support any weight on my left leg. The pain was piercing." Kate fiddles with her now-empty lunch container, avoiding making eye contact.

Years later, the memory still isn't pleasant. She remembers the entire episode with a vivid clarity. The shock of being on the floor, seeing her friends' faces grow more worried by the second as they stood beside her, even Montgomery rushing to her side as soon as he realized it hadn't been an ordinary fall.

And the pain. It had spread like waves up her leg, the limb lying useless on the floor, bar the visible swelling that seemed to grow with each passing minute.

"Coach Montgomery rushed me to the ER, even called my dad to make sure he was right behind us. The doctors did an MRI and confirmed it was partial ACL tear. When I over rotated, the ligament in my knee ripped, and so they put me on immediate rest. After a couple of days, I had surgery to reconstruct the ligament," she finishes softly, scraping a stray piece of hair back behind her ear before she chances a look at Rick. He's wincing at her description, or the circumstances surrounding her injury. Maybe even both.

Silence stretches between them, logged by the still recording phone before the journalist finds his voice again. He clears his throat twice before putting a voice to his thoughts, "A lot of the media focus at the time was how emotionally distraught you had to be, how it must be devastating to lose your shot. How did you deal with it?"

Kate looks out at the slowly emptying diner, most people having finished their lunch breaks by then. The atmosphere of the room was much more quiet, allowing them to talk in softer volumes and still be heard.

"It all just happened so fast," she sighs, remembering the feeling of hopelessness she had when her dream faded away in a span of minutes. "My mindset had to shift from the goal of landing a new vault and making the London team to surgery and physical therapy for the next couple of months."

"I don't even think I properly took in what was happening at first. The doctors, my dad and my coach were discussing how the Olympics weren't an option anymore because there was no possible way I would heal in time. I was told that I would simply have to rehab my leg and set other goals for myself."

But it had settled in eventually. She'd given up hobbies and vacations, had no social life to speak of in training for one goal. At sixteen, Kate thought her entire universe was shattering once the Olympic Trials began and other girls her age were competing for a dream that was supposed to be hers. What she had trained for since childhood had become an impossibility. A few weeks before the Games, and London was no more.

"But eventually it had to hit you, right?" Rick asks, abandoning the remnants of his burger and a handful of fries by pushing his plate to the side. He's no longer juggling eating and writing, attention fully glued on Kate from the moment they began discussing her injury. "I can understand that in the immediate aftermath that you had trouble accepting and understanding what had happened, but what was it like once it really sunk in?"

His question transports her to those first days of being stuck at home on the couch, surrounded by get well cards and flowers with her leg propped up and her mind stuck on a loop where it replayed the vault over and over again. Each time, she'd come up with a scenario for how things could have gone differently.

Kate would bet that she thought up a million of those during recovery.

"The first couple of months, I sulked, I grumbled, I got mad at anyone who even brought up gymnastics. I refused to watch the Olympics on TV and yet always looked up the results of the competition afterwards. I'd read the names of my fellow gymnasts making history with all those medals and get caught up in the fact that I could have been there with them," she shrugs.

That still happened on occasion. An ad featuring one of the Fierce Five, or a sports montage on TV. Once she'd almost thrown a Kellogg's box in the middle of her neighbourhood convenience store at the sight of McKayla Maroney hawking cornflakes with her two Olympic medals around her neck. Even now, Kate often has to remind herself that she can't change the past and become the one on the cereal boxes instead.

"Being stuck on crutches and pushing through all the gruelling physiotherapy would remind me of the fact that I wasn't able to do any of the things I used to be able to. But once my knee started to heal and I could walk, then jump, then resume small exercises in the gym, I began to realize that getting injured and not making the Olympics was _not_ the end of the road."

For the first time since they began discussing her injury, Kate grins. "During my senior year of high school, I was able to focus more on having a life outside of gymnastics while my leg regained its full capabilities. I didn't have to decline invitations to hang out with friends because I had practice. I could go to school dances; I could spend time with my dad. It was so different from the life of constant gymnastics."

She thinks back to those days that were blissfully free of obligation and stress outside of completing her high school education. It'd been the most freedom Kate had had since becoming an elite level gymnast.

But it wasn't her. As much fun as she'd had hanging out with non-gym friends and going on dates, she'd spent a lot of time feeling guilty about not being at training. It hadn't mattered that she was physically unable to practice. And after a life full of obligations for every hour of every day, the amount of free time had eventually made her go stir crazy.

"But you came back to it," Rick supplies, lightly prompting Kate to continue as he scribbles in his notebook.

"Yeah," she agrees easily, "After a few months away, I was happy to come back to training. I started off small and worked my way back up to the more difficult skills as my knee allowed them. And being back in the gym, slowly building myself back up caught the eye of some college recruiters."

At that statement, he sat up straight in the booth, "I know you went to Stanford, but I'm curious. Who else offered you a scholarship?"

She taps her fingers on her chin after the question, thinking through the whirlwind of visits to multiple schools and the parade of coaches through the apartment during her senior year. "Florida, they have an amazing program, UCLA was a draw because Maddie was going to go there, Oklahoma, Utah..." Kate trails off after that with a shrug, "There were a couple others."

"How'd you end up picking Stanford?" Rick asks, grinning at her as if he already knows how she's going to answer.

"The academics," Kate replies, grinning wide when he gives a little noise of assent. Apparently his guess was correct. "Going to a good school held precedence over how good the gymnastics program was for my dad, but we definitely held our own as a gym team."

"You've mentioned your dad," he begins quietly, eyes scanning over his notes before they lift to meet her own, "But when you talk about your life when you were younger, you included your mom. So what about her? What did she think about your college choice?"

She can feel her face fall at the mention of her mother, and it's all Kate can do not to go on the defensive, "Actually, I don't want to discuss my mom."

Her mother. Kate's surprised Rick caught that. It wasn't as if she'd been overtly trying to gloss over Johanna Beckett, but she hadn't said anything to him during her recap either. The death of her closest friend and biggest cheerleader while a freshman in high school was a thought she'd push to the corners of her mind most of the time. If she didn't, the pain of it would threaten to swallow her whole.

It's another reason that Kate's so determined to reach her gymnastics goals. Her mother had always been the one to wake her up as a kid for practice before school, to apply ice to her injuries, to sit in the front row during meets. If she had to do it for anyone aside from herself, it had to be for her mom.

Her eyes are still locked on her hands, fingers curled tightly around one another where they rest in her lap when Rick speaks, "I'm sorry," he says immediately, the sincerity in his voice enough enticement for Kate to look up, "I didn't mean to upset you."

She looks up at him, at his expression, and her own wavers slightly. "It's alright," Kate mumbles, resting her face in her hand. Maybe one day she'd tell him that story. Some later point where they knew each other better.

Except, _wait_. She immediately puts a halt to that thinking. It wasn't like the two of them were friends. She and Rick had only met a few days ago, and Kate hardly knew much about him. In fact, the only reason they had seen each other again was because of his writing assignment. She had to stop getting ahead of herself. She coughs slightly; suddenly glad that he couldn't read her thoughts.

But he's still watching her; face guarded and measured while he waits to see if she's willing to continue talking. Pausing to clear her throat and take a sip from her glass of water, Kate smiles, "Stanford," she says by way of bypassing the awkwardness that has invaded their booth. "I was scared of being on the other side the country, but too stubborn to admit it to anyone. The hours scheduled for practice were far less than I'd been putting in for elite level so that we had space in our schedules for school and, in theory, a social life. And I actually had one!" she flashes him a grin, perking up at the thought of her teammates, "My team was, and still is, amazing. We went through everything together. Our upperclassmen acted like mentors for the younger ones. We weren't obligated to spend a lot of time together outside of training, but we did. All sorts of things that were described as 'team bonding.'" she chuckles, doing the air quotes. But those outings had been great. It was almost as if they had their own little sorority.

"It sounds like you really loved it in California. How'd you make the decision to defer your junior year and come back home to train for the Olympics?" Rick asks.

"It wasn't easy," Kate says with a sigh, "Especially with how well things were going. Our team had gotten into the NCAA finals at the end of my sophomore year, and we were poised to do even better in the next season. But the Olympics were so close... I knew that if I wanted to try again, I had to do something about it immediately. If I gave up this year to stay at Stanford, I'd be aged out for the 2020 games."

"How'd your team take it?"

"Surprisingly well. They were happy for me that I was going to go for the Olympics a second time, but were lamenting the fact that I wouldn't be there with them in the fall." She had told them all her decision when they had met up for an end of the year get together following finals. Of course Lanie had taken her decision hard. _How am I going to get through a year without you, girl?_ She had asked Kate afterward.

They had both made it with the help of technology. Phone calls and text messages that kept one another up to date on their lives. Kate hadn't forgotten that she owed Lanie a second phone call once she wrapped up this interview with Rick.

There's nothing but the soft sound of a radio and the scratching of his pen across paper when Kate finishes talking, and she uses the silence to glance at her watch. With a start, she realizes they've been sitting in the booth for nearly two hours and a quick glance around the diner confirms the reason for the relative silence: the lunch crowd has left and they are the only two patrons that remain.

Following her expression of surprise when he looks up, Rick turns his own eyes towards the empty diner before he lets out a laugh. "Apparently listening to you made the time fly by," he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

She snorts. "Was I that interesting? Just a bunch of complaining about my knee is what it felt like. Thank you for that, by the way. Kind of cathartic."

"See? And you were so worried the other day that this would be a bad idea." He's grinning at her again, some smug thing that makes Kate want to smack him and blush at the same time.

Instead, she goes for a joke, poking one finger in his direction, "Hey, you still haven't written your first blog post yet. There is still time for this to totally end in disaster."

"You keep telling yourself that, Kate," Rick laughs, closing his notebook with a soft slap of pages, "This was a pretty fun lunch. Thanks for being great company while I'm technically 'working'."

"Well, it was surprisingly enjoyable for me, too," she concedes with a smile. Compared to the day she met him, Rick was far less overbearing than her first impression. And he was a great listener, pulling out her emotional and complicated story with an ease that surprised her.

She was just trying not to think about the fact that an abridged version of her words would soon be on the internet for millions of people to read.

With one long arm, Rick cuts off the recording, "I actually had a couple more questions to ask, but we can leave those for another time?" Staring at him, Kate isn't sure if the upward tilt of his eyebrows and the pregnant pause of his sentence are meant to be a question. It's probably his attempt to be subtle, but she can't quite read him well enough to tell.

"I've already said yes, haven't I?" she says as they both stand, nudging his shoulder with her own as he stuffs his notebook and pen into the bag, and slings the strap across his other shoulder.

He grins at her though, doling out enough money from his wallet to cover his food and a generous tip. "Well in that case, same time next week?" This time he leaves no doubt that he's asking a question, those blue eyes sparkling with hope as he slides his wallet back into his pocket, and scoops his phone up from the table.

"Works for me," Kate says, matching his grin with her own as they step towards the exit.


	3. Chapter 3

Her hands slam into the front of the vaulting table with a thump, a last second attempt to stop her body from crashing into the apparatus, not that it works. Kate growls at herself, fingers clenching into a fist that she almost considers smacking against the table. Usually she tries to hide her frustrations, but with five and a half weeks before the Olympic Trials she's a mess. What is the point of attempting a comeback if she can't even vault properly?

"I know this vault hasn't done you any favours, but there's something to be said about trying again," Montgomery calls from the edge of the soft foam pit, Kate's landing spot for the duration of today's vaulting practice.

But it isn't just _any_ vault. This is the Amanar. A round off with a back handspring onto the table, followed by two and a half twists in the air before landing. One of the most difficult skills a female gymnast could attempt, and a huge score booster.

It was also the vault which had torn Kate's ACL before London and something she had not tried since that day.

Part of her wants to just give up and ignore Montgomery's suggestion of switching back to the Amanar. Her current vault for competition, the double twisting Yurchenko, is similar to the Amanar. Slightly less impressive as it contains one less half twist, but easier to execute.

But she won't give up, that isn't who she is. So Kate sighs, shoulders slumping for her trek back to the beginning of the vault runway to try the skill again. Of the three vaulting tables in the gym, Kate's been working on the one closest to the wall all afternoon, preferring to avoid collisions with the pint sized six year olds who have the tendency to run across the vault runways instead of walking around them.

Again at the front of the runway, Kate turns her head back towards the vault. There is a process to her success, and it begins with visualizing how she wants the vault to go. Bending over to rest her hands gingerly on her knees, she closes her eyes to focus. She needs a good push off of the table, lots of height, and fast twisting. But just like every other time she's tried to picture the vault before a run today, the only sight replaying in her mind is the one of her injury.

Kate simply can't get it out of her head. The fall, the noise, the excruciating pain, and the long recovery process. Logically, she knows that she's back to landing in the soft foam pit where there's no chance of a repeat injury. But, nonetheless, it's the same vault, and it's freaking her out.

She spares a glance at her coach leaning against the wall next to the vault runway, patiently providing support the entire day. As the single elite level gymnast currently training at the gym, Kate's lucky enough to be the only one receiving Montgomery's tutelage. It's been hours, and her coach hasn't gotten angry at her for balking the vault over and over again and not once getting in a successful attempt.

The man in question gives her a sympathetic look. "I know this is tough for you, Kate. It won't be the end of the world if you decide to stick with the double twisting Yurchenko."

She adjusts her leotard with a sigh, trying to buy some more time before attempting the vault again. Even though trying, and failing, with the Amanar today has shot her confidence down, Kate can't shake the feeling that she _must_ get the vault, that there's no other option.

The pressure to learn and perform the vault successfully comes from within. Kate's stubborn streak reigns supreme most of the time, usually translating into her gymnastics. But, setting unattainable goals and pursuing them relentlessly until they are met is the speciality of elite athletes around the world. Failure is a hard thing for Kate to swallow and a feeling that she avoided if she could.

That pressure and ambition has made her current difficulty with the vault hard to accept. She's had mental blocks before, such as when she first tried learning how to do a side aerial on the balance beam. Kate would falter every time she attempted it, grasping the skill only after practicing it on the floor for weeks before moving it to the four inch wide beam.

Back then, Kate was lucky enough to learn the handless cartwheel at a younger age and during the off season, when she didn't have to prepare for upcoming competitions. She had the luxury of being able to pace herself and take it slow with the skill. However, Kate's time with the Amanar vault is limited. With the clock ticking down until trials, she has to overcome her mental hurdle and master the vault again in a matter of weeks.

It wouldn't be the end of the world if she didn't, Montgomery is right about that, but the high score that the vault afforded her could still make the difference between making the team or missing out on it entirely.

Taking a deep breath, she tries to clear her head and focus solely on the vault at the end of the runway. The vault is hard, but it isn't _impossible._ She's done it before. Many times, in fact, while preparing for London. So why can't she do it now?

It could be because her mind feels split between two different streams of thought; one telling her to relearn the vault for Olympic Trials to raise her score andto prove to herself that she can get over her mental block. But then there is the other, sneakier, thought invading her head that is trying to convince her that she'll never land the skill again without injuring herself. It's already happened once, why can't the same thing happen again? Her knee currently has to be taped up while training, since the reconstructed tendons are still vulnerable, and Kate always feels a little residual pain after hard landings on the balance beam or floor.

Does she really want to ruin an already compromised limb a second time?

Ignoring the darker thoughts, Kate grits her teeth and takes off in a run towards the vault. The apparatus grows bigger by the second as she gets closer to it with every passing step. Then, she's too close and-

 _I can't do it. I have to stop._

Her hands stretch out in front of her without her consent, bracing for impact against the vault as she tries to skid to a halt; attempt number twenty one abandoned. Kate's body slams into the table after her hands do, and she groans.

 _Not again_.

Pushing herself off, she wipes the sweat off her face with the back of her hand, fingers tight with self directed anger. Her knee would be fine, _she_ would be fine after landing the Amanar in the foam pit. She knows that. Just as she knows there is nothing to be worried about. So why does she always decide otherwise right before it was time to attempt the vault?

The always present throbbing in her knee doesn't bother her, she's grown used to it since her surgery. But what Kate doesn't want is for it to turn into something that can't be fixed. That is a reality that could become hers if she landed the vault incorrectly again.

But it's something that _could_ happen, she reminds herself _._ Notsomething that _will_ happen _._

This is why she has to learn the skill again, to prove to herself that one terrible vault in the past does not mean that all of the future ones will also end in disaster.

The question is, how long will it take?

* * *

The hard shove that Kate gives the front door of her childhood apartment causes it to fly open with force, banging against the wall decorated with pictures of her as a kid. She shuffles in, tired muscles aching, depositing her duffel bag on the kitchen counter with a thud before opening the fridge and reaching for an apple. With one hand clamped around the fruit, she runs the other through the messy flyways of her hair that are attempting to obscure her vision.

The path she's taking is towards her bedroom, thoughts focused solely on a nap that will eat away at her exhaustion. The pull of an hour of sleep is so strong that she almost misses her dad perched on the couch in the living room, files spread out on the coffee table.

"Home so soon?" she asks him, giving a curious glance towards her father around a bite of her apple.

Her dad shrugs. "Finished up with a client early today and decided to bring the paperwork home. Though I could say the same thing about you, Katie. You're usually back after I am."

"Training was productive today, so Montgomery set me free a couple of hours early," Kate says, avoiding eye contact with her father in favour of another large bite. It isn't _fully_ a lie. The first part is made up, but the second is true. Her coach did let her leave the gym hours earlier than usual, but not because practice went well. It was more due to the fact that vault had frustrated her so much in the morning that she was off her game the entire training session. He told her to come back tomorrow, when her head was clearer and she could focus again.

A full day of practice under her belt and Kate hadn't managed an attempt at the Amanar. Not yet, at least. But she promises herself that she will.

The look that her dad gives to her answer is inquisitive, almost as if he doesn't quite believe her explanation. And he probably doesn't. Jim Beckett can almost always tell when something is wrong. But given that stubbornness is a family trait, he's usually nice enough to let her work things through on her own. At least when he knows that she can handle it.

Kate hopes this isn't a case where he decides she can't and steps in.

He changes the subject instead. "Hear back from that journalist yet?"

Kate lets out an inward sigh of relief that he doesn't want to press the issue any further, though their new conversation direction makes her want to hide for a completely different reason. But she smiles anyway, willing to indulge her dad's question.

"I think we're meeting up again soon," she says, turning the half eaten apple in her hands. Between her training and physiotherapy, and a slew of deadlines for Rick, they've been busy since having lunch a couple of days ago.

But while on an icing break during yesterday's practice, Kate's phone had buzzed with a text from him, containing some more questions that he hadn't gotten to on their lunch. They were more gym oriented than personal, such as ' _What's the biggest difference you've found with training college gymnastics versus elite gymnastics?'_ and ' _What are the goals you want to achieve for the Olympics after making the team?'_

She'd texted him back in protest of the second one, saying it was a bit presumptuous to answer that question for the public to read when she hadn't even made the team. He replied with a short ' _humour me,'_ and Kate couldn't help but laugh at that. He was more certain than she was, that was for sure.

Before she could reply, though, he shot off another text, telling her to hold her train of thought until they got to see each other again in person. _It's not as much fun if you answer over the phone._

She had wanted to keep the conversation with the journalist going for longer, but sadly Montgomery had called her name and ended her break, sending her back to complete drills on the balance beam.

Her dad found the idea of a journalist writing a series of articles on her quite entertaining, especially when Kate had shuffled home the day she met Rick and dropped on the couch with a dramatic sigh. Unlike how she perceived it at the time, Jim didn't see it as a problem but rather as an interesting opportunity. When she came home the day she had met Rick for lunch, her dad's knowing smile grew after realizing that she had enjoyed herself.

At least he had promised that his opinion would change of the writer if Rick's writing was unflattering, much to her chagrin. Someone was on her side, regardless of how it all turned out.

"That's good," he says with a color of amusement to his voice, picking up on her small smile and her general mood shift towards the writer. "The Yankees game will be on soon. Want to join me on the couch?"

For two years after Johanna Beckett died, Kate and her dad had lived in the same apartment space but shared very little of their lives while trying to deal with grief. Her father had thrown himself into his work as a means of distraction, the same way that Kate had channelled all of her energy into gymnastics. Neither of them were good at talking their feelings through, preferring to bury any personal troubles in the pursuit of an outside goal. But since she had returned home from Stanford, her dad had been making an effort to reconnect with Kate and improve their bond in the absence of her mother and his wife. Part of that effort had included bringing back the things they used to love to do together when she was younger, like taking in a Yankees game.

"I think I'll skip out today, but thanks for the offer. Maybe this weekend?" she says with a shake of her head, smiling slightly as she tosses the finished apple core into the trash. It isn't that she doesn't want to spend time with her dad, she does, but Kate doubts she'd make it through the first inning. Training had been physically and emotionally exhausting, and the only thing calling her name right now is a nap.

* * *

When his fingers strike the final period of his article, Rick allows himself an inward cheer. Another article done, one more deadline met. In the past couple of days he's been working frantically, trying to complete most of his current projects in order to devote his time and energy on the Olympic series.

He's been given three athletes from the city to cover for the multi-article assignment he is doing for _First Press_. A haughty sprinter intent on being the one to beat Usain Bolt once and for all. Currently, the runner's agent was proving difficult to work with, having given him little more than a business card and a promise to be in touch. That left the cyclist in the midst of a three month cross country training run, making it difficult to maintain consistent contact, and, of course, Kate. The reluctant gymnast who finally opened up to him and shared her story over a burger that she couldn't eat.

He'd be lying if he said that he wasn't intrigued by her dedication to a sport that caused her so many injuries and grievances, and by her willingness to try climbing the comeback mountain that so many others had failed to scale.

Rick had gone into journalism because he loved finding out people's stories. Why people do what they do, what brought them to where they are now. He wrote his first novel, an admitted labour of love, while in college in an effort to come up with a story of his own. His attempt hadn't been successful, the work still remaining unpublished, but it hadn't dampened his eagerness to pursue writing. For now, he would tell the stories of other people rather than the stories that lived in his head.

He had started out small, working the graveyard shift and covering the stories and events that no one else wanted in a large metro area paper, injecting his small pieces with flair that often clashed with what overhead editors wanted. But that flair, especially for community profile pieces, had gained him a niche following and enough attention that he made the shift to freelance work.

His work has become a mashup of hard-hitting profiles and in depth features of issues and topics that often slip through the cracks of regular newspapers. Rick's personal writing style and penchant for embellishment of a scene or a personality lent itself naturally to magazines and online publications. From amateur sports teams (a pet project and personal favourite) to the run down, nearly abandoned mining towns in the Appalachian mountains, he's carved out space for a little bit of everything in his budding career.

But now he's drawn to these three hometown heroes in the weeks before the Rio Olympics, excited to bring a little of that international appeal to a city that often fails to recognize the groups who inhabit it. He's especially hooked on Kate and her story, the fire and determination that she will succeed sparking something in him that he's only felt in passing for his previous work.

He had made a beeline for his laptop after lunch with the gymnast, fingers eager to type out a rough outline for the first blog post. It was only after his makeshift home office had darkened around him and the sun showed signs of setting that he realized he had been writing for hours. He'd made an effort to make sure that he'd captured her story and voice in a way that was compelling yet still authentic.

Their meeting had provided him with enough information to spread over a couple of articles, save for some questions that he still needed answers for. He'd gotten the farthest of all of the three athletes with Kate. Writing about her wasn't difficult - he loved his job, but this was the first time that it hadn't felt like work.

Rick opens up the rough draft of another article left to finish, this one about an initiative by public school students to increase the presence of the arts in their school. The piece is mostly done, needing one last quote and a couple of closing sentences to give it a sense of completion. He's about to open up the transcripts of his interviews with the students and administrators when his cell phone rings.

The caller ID shows the name of _First Press'_ editor, Gina Cowell. As far as editors went, Gina isn't the worst he's had. Although pushy if he tiptoed a little too close to a deadline, she mostly let him work in peace. She was happy enough with his work to ask him to cover stories for the publication on a routine basis, and for someone still building their resume like Rick he was very grateful for the steady work.

Picking up the phone, he brings her up to speed about the cyclist and the sprint runner, including how their articles were planned out but required proper interview time to proceed.

"And what about the gymnast?" Gina asks, mollified by the fact that he's started, at least. Often, Rick would leave the writing process until the very end, bringing all the pieces together in a haze of caffeine. But for his Olympic series, covering three different athletes at the same time meant that he had to plan.

Rick smiles slightly, remembering the texts he sent to Kate the day before. "Going pretty well. First article almost done, save a couple more questions. Second one shouldn't take too long either."

And that is true. He already had ideas for the next couple articles on Kate, and his mind is already spinning with possibilities for others. He's glad that the deal includes multiple stories to the lead up to the Games, it's a built in excuse to spend more time with the gymnast and hear a little of her background while getting a preview to the upcoming chapter of what he's sure will be an amazing comeback.

He tries not to think about the fact that he has to do the same for two other athletes.

Gina lets out a surprised snort. "Almost finished the first one? I'm surprised, Rick. Didn't know you had it in you."

"Hey, sometimes I can pull myself together if the subject material is interesting enough," he laughs. Kate definitely was, though Gina had no way to know that.

Even though they are on the phone, he can feel Gina's eye roll from her high rise editor's office uptown to his cramped apartment in Queens. "Seems like her inspirational tale may be giving you some motivation. As long as you remain caught up with your other two athletes, whatever. Knock yourself out."

After promising to try to reach the cyclist and runner again, he hangs up with his editor and returns to his school article, clicking save for good measure. Just a couple more stories to go, and he can focus his energy on the Olympics.

But Rick doesn't dive right back into writing, caught up in staring at his phone. Despite the pressing need to finish, he can't help but wonder what Kate might be doing right now. Is she still in the gym working towards perfection, or enjoying a rare night at home or a meal with friends? He knows all about her career and her gym life, but there's an entirely unexplored element in her personal life.

And he's not above admitting that his interest in that particular portion is influenced just slightly by his own curiosity rather than prompted by journalistic integrity. Still, he pushes his phone to the far side of his desk, hidden behind his laptop and largely from the temptation of his fingers to text her.

Instead, he turns his attention back to the glowing screen, calling up the transcripts of his student interviews to hunt for that perfect final quote to close out the story.


	4. Chapter 4

Kate loves the feeling of flying through the air, of seeing the world spin around her as she flips. It's pure bliss, being able to defy gravity without wings.

What's harder are the landings, especially while acquiring new skills or relearning old ones. In her years of gymnastics, Kate's face has become well acquainted with various floor mats. Today, she's getting an up close look at the foam pieces in the pit behind the vaulting table, the one her body has toppled into each time she finishes a vault.

She's made progress. It's not much, but it's there.

Earlier in the morning, Kate had managed to successfully complete the Amanar into the foam pit for the first time in four years. She didn't stop herself, didn't put her hands out to stop her body's momentum, and instead kept going until she was flying high before gravity dictated that she land into the foam pit.

Montgomery's triumphant yell had greeted her as she climbed out, pride evident in his eyes as he congratulated her for pushing through and trying until she completed the vault. She had even noticed the wide eyes of the younger girls standing on the beam who'd seen her attempt, their own routines forgotten as they paused mid skill, slack jawed and wide eyed with awe. Even her walk back to the front of the vault runway had been interrupted by high fives from other gymnasts and coaches, all impressed that she had managed to do it.

Despite her breakthrough, all was not rosy. Montgomery had been quick to leave his praise behind, coach's eyes spotting that she had over rotated on the attempt, the same error that had caused her injury. The difference - the _only_ difference - was the foam pit. The soft, forgiving piles of the stuff had saved her from a bad landing.

But Kate wasn't injured, and she refused to let the fear of the 'what if' win. Today she had survived the Amanar. She _did_ it.

After her success, Kate had worked through each of the other apparatuses; uneven bars, balance beam, and floor exercise; focused on the fluidity of her routines. After a lunch break and some stretching work for flexibility, she's finally made the circle back to vault – her least favourite apparatus out of the four, but the one that is the most rewarding.

Managing to get herself over the vault without stopping has given Kate the confidence she had been lacking. Now she knows that she can do it into the foam pit, and she wants to try again. And again. And again. There is always more to improve on, and leaping that hurdle becomes her new goal. In the case of the Amanar, it's her twisting technique. Her landings aren't the best with the skill, and if she is to compete the vault in the future, she has to figure out with her coach how to do them safely on the hard competition mats.

But that will come later. At the moment, she's ready to train her body and brain to be completely comfortable with the skill by practicing it over and over again. Having a strong muscle memory gives gymnasts a sense of assuredness with their routines and helps them perform seemingly without effort.

The trick is to become so comfortable with the skill that you can perform it under any pressure situation. And, if she wants to do the Amanar in competition for the Trials, Kate has to be able to execute the vault with her eyes closed. Hypothetically, at least.

But she's not quite there yet, even though she knows it'll come. Repetition upon repetition is the only thing that will lead her to a successful vault. A successful vault will lead to higher potential scores, which will hopefully pave the path to the Olympic team. She's willing to put in the work, to spend hours upon hours repeating the skill. Anything to achieve a better result than she did four years ago.

One deep breath. Two. Three. She takes off like a shot, feet pounding towards an apparatus that grows bigger by the second...

* * *

"You know what?" Lanie's voice flows out from Kate's iPad, the device currently perched on top of a pile of training leotards. "Can't say I miss those camp days. I mean, they were fun, but _man_ were they exhausting."

Kate gives a nod of agreement towards the FaceTime screen as she stuffs athletic tape into her suitcase. "You're telling me. Training under Karayeva's glare definitely does not top the list of enjoyable ways to spend a weekend."

By now, packing for the national team camp is routine. She's been attending ever since she returned home to train at the elite level, giving up a weekend of her time each month to fly to Texas. This trip to Huntsville will mark the last one before the Olympic Trials, and the list of things that she needs to take with her haven't changed. One glance around her room is enough to convince Kate that she's made less progress in packing and more in ensuring the space is a mess. Clothing and gymnastics gear are covering all of the available floor space, with several piles of additional stuff spread across most of her bed.

Tossing in a pair of socks, she can't help thinking about the camp and the pressure that comes with it. Though it's not the official line, the weekends in Texas are a check in of sorts, so that the National Team heads can see how each prospective gymnast is progressing with their training. All of them are important, but Daria Karayeva is the one person who holds the most power and the one every gymnast strives to impress.

Not only is she in charge of all the final decisions, including ultimate approval of the World Championship and Olympic team member selections, she also keeps a watchful eye on every camp participant and their coaches.

The golden rule is to stay on her good side by blowing her away at camp, which is an exhaustive process in itself. After strength and endurance tests, the gymnasts are put into a mock competition to perform routines on all four events, to showcase who is adequately prepared. Then, the athletes get to show off new skills, things currently being worked on to add into a routine for the future; all to show Daria further potential.

Kate is headed to down to Texas with a plan; to complete the Amanar and land in the foam pit. She'd managed to execute a few more attempts in her afternoon practice without balking, another step towards her goal. If she can do it at camp, she'll be at the center of Daria's radar for sure.

"Is it the same now as it was in the junior days? I remember being scared half to death of her," Lanie laughs.

It hadn't been that different for Kate. As a young gymnast at the junior level, she had constantly been in awe of the seniors on the national team and always terrified of messing up. She and Lanie hadn't known each other back then, Lanie hailing from Louisiana and a different gym. Stanford, of course, had changed all that, not that it stopped them from reminiscing over a shared experience.

She shrugs in answer to Lanie's question, picking up a t-shirt and carefully folding it up, "I mean, everyone still goes in with the same goal, to do the best they possibly can. I guess the stakes are just higher now, being a senior during an Olympic year and all. Though going from being one of the younger ones to the oldest one there in a couple years' time feels pretty jarring," she says, turning towards the screen beside her, "Last camp, I was standing next to a junior during the team lineup, and she was _tiny_. She barely passed my elbow. Do you remember ever being that small?"

Lanie laughs. "I know what you mean. It's one thing to train in the same place as the younger ones, but training _with_ them really makes you realize how long you've been in the sport. I get to skip out on facing that unsettling feeling this summer, though."

Kate sticks her tongue out towards her friend on the screen, currently perched on a bench outside the Green Library at Stanford. Like Maddie, Lanie had stayed in school for the summer session, finishing some extra courses rather than returning to train at her childhood gym. "I wish you were doing this whole elite comeback thing too. It's going to be so weird squaring off against sixteen year olds instead of college kids," she sighs, "Y'know, they're surprisingly intimidating."

"Kate, c'mon. They're tiny. Not as much experience, either. Four years later and you're coming in with that. When things get tough during the selection process, you'll be able to hold it together much better than they can," Lanie gives her an encouraging smile before smirking slightly, "Besides, I think I'm done with elite for good. Unlike Stanford, the Olympic Training Center doesn't have any cute college boys."

Kate sits up slightly, dropping the shirt in her hand as she grins. "Speaking of college boys, any developments with that football player you were telling me about?"

Even through the screen, she can see the blush rising on Lanie's cheeks. "Okay, _one_ , we're not really a thing anyway. But I _am_ meeting Javi after my anatomy lecture this evening."

"Javi, eh?" Kate giggles, "On a nickname basis already. How adorable."

Kate had met Javier Esposito with Lanie back at school, at a party hosted by one of the senior girls of the gymnastics team. A defensive back on the Cardinal football team, he had spent the entirety of the night bickering with Lanie over whose sport was better. In typical fashion, her friend had left the party with his number and a grin on her face.

But now Lanie scoffs, giving her a trademark eye roll and a quick toss of her hair. "Girl, please. If we're going in this direction, can we bring up your writer? When is he publishing that first blog post anyway? You know, that you can tell a lot about how a person feels about someone from the way they write about them."

Kate squeaks at that as she stuffs a pair of gym shorts into her suitcase. She'd texted her best friend again after meeting Rick for lunch to tell her about it, pleasantly surprised with how it had gone. Lanie's only reply had been _'I told you so!'_

"He still wants a couple more questions answered before he posts it. I told him about camp this weekend, that I wouldn't be back until Monday night, and he said he'd text me in the evening." She busies herself in zipping the suitcase, packing complete and thankful that the action hides her face from Lanie's careful analysis.

She'd be lying if she said she hadn't been thinking about the writer. Rick is nice, really nice. But while Kate knows that, she doesn't trust it. He's a journalist; a journalist working on a story and in need of a decent scoop to complete his assignment. She can't shake the idea that maybe the only reason he's being so nice to her is to get a more authentic story, and making her comfortable enough to convince her to open up more.

It may be an irrational fear, but Kate can't help it. The idea of her personal history being published on the internet is something she's still not completely comfortable with. Would Rick even be interested in her at all if he wasn't doing the series?

Still, she can't help the slight flutter she feels at his name, or at the memory of his rapt expression as he listened to her every word, even at his excitement over skills she practiced every day that managed to make her smile.

She's still trying to make sense of her conflicted emotions as she hangs up with Lanie a few minutes later, dragging her suitcase to rest beside her bedroom door. Kate tosses herself back onto her bed, intent on resting before dinner, when her phone lights up with a text.

One quick glance at the screen tells her it's from the current object of her thoughts, and she can feel the smile tugging at her lips as she opens the Messages app to read what he's written to her.

* * *

"Once again, I am so sorry that Sean couldn't be here today. I'll be sure to forward the list of interview questions to him as soon as possible." The sprinter's agent gives Rick a superficial smile as she stuffs the paper with scrawled questions on it into her bag, switching it out of her grasp for her smartphone.

Rick gives her a strained smile in return. "It's not a problem, as long as he gets back to me soon. Preferably in the next couple of days."

Olympic runner Sean Chambers had bailed on his interview, sending his agent to get Rick's questions instead. To say it's put him behind in completing that leg of his Hometown Heroes series would be an understatement. And, if he were to be honest, it's also insulting to provide a list of questions that the runner can prepare for in advance.

To Rick it's unauthentic; Sean could craft any sort of answer and any sort of personality that he wanted with a strictly approved line of questioning. Definitely not the ideal interview or working conditions for a man who prides himself on reading people and gleaning their story through observation and then backing it up with a thorough interview about their experiences.

But his articles are on a tight deadline, making it imperative that he operate outside his traditional parameters. Usually he'd never accept this sort of situation, always insisting on meeting face to face with ample time to analyze the story and do it justice with his words. In balking on his interview, Sean Chambers had single handedly raised Rick's stress level.

He's now at the mercy of a sports agent who seems wholly unconcerned about putting Sean out there for more media exposure.

They part outside the small café where Rick had originally planned to meet with Chambers for his interview. The woman is halfway down the street before Rick has a chance to even take a step, ear to her phone and back to work.

Turning his back on her, he gives himself a moment to take stock of where he stands. Chambers is temporarily placed back onto the shelf in his mind, as he has nothing to do but wait for someone to be in touch. But that leaves Kate, whom he still hasn't gotten to ask his follow up questions, and cyclist Rosie Buchanan.

He had completed a phone call with the veteran Olympian even though she's still out of state for a training run, a follow up to a FaceTime chat they'd squeezed in late one night. Even in the midst of a gruelling training regime, Rosie had been amiable and ready to talk about her life, providing him with plenty information to begin a story with.

Rick manoeuvres his way through the crowded sidewalk, though he's not quite sure where to go next. He's finished all of his other open assignments for the time being, and with Chambers being a no-show his plan to return home and write a rough draft from their talk isn't possible.

He can't work on Rosie's story either. Gina had already been sent the first draft, which would undoubtedly return with her comments and possibly that of one of the _First Press_ copy editors. Personally, he was hoping for Kevin Ryan who, in Rick's opinion, was undoubtedly the best on the entire magazine staff.

Caught by the 'NO WALK' sign at a crowded intersection, he's forced to wait as traffic speeds past with the other pedestrians. Though, unlike most sections of Manhattan, the bustle of automobiles doesn't drown out the sound of children as they play in a park a few feet away. Nestled between the sidewalk and a ten-story brick apartment building, the place is filled with kids and parents enjoying their Friday evening with the backdrop of a sun that is just beginning to set.

Away from the swing sets and jungle gyms, a patch of grass holds another group of kids that all have huddled around a girl no more than ten. She's grinning as the others begin to cheer until, finally, she throws herself into a one handed cartwheel and sticks the landing with both feet on the ground and a huge, beaming grin.

Rick can't help but smile at that, remembering Kate's recollection when they met over food of being that young once and doing the exact same thing. His phone slides out of his pocket easily, one press of his thumb against the Home button unlocking the screen so that he can pull up his ongoing text conversation with the gymnast.

As he types out his message, he finds himself wondering what she's doing right now. Packing, he'd presume. She had mentioned that she would be out of town for training camp the last time they had talked, a disappointing reality since their schedules hadn't aligned for mutual spare time.

Their conversations via text were sporadic at best. Rick had sent her a link to his bone broth article after it had been published, mostly because of how ridiculous she'd found the idea during her interview. The amused reply he'd gotten back had made him smile.

He knows it's probably not a good idea to bother her tonight if she's busy preparing for camp. This time, he doesn't have the excuse of a random link to text her to initiate a conversation. But he finishes the message anyway, taking a long sigh and crossing the street once the text has been delivered.

" _Any chance you still like to do cartwheels in the grass?"_

* * *

He almost doesn't recognize her when he spots her coming his way from the other end of the park. Kate's in a t-shirt and jeans, hair framing her face freely instead of up in a tight bun. She looks gorgeous, though she's looked that way every time that he's seen her. After all, Rick's not blind. But it's interesting to see her appear so different from her usual gymnast persona.

He gives a wave as she approaches, casually pointing at the empty swing next to him. As he had waited for Kate to make the journey to the park the place had emptied out, all the families heading for home, to dinner, or some other unknown destination.

She's giving him a shy grin when she takes the offered seat, feet lightly nudging at the blades of grass under her feet. "You picked an interesting spot to meet up."

"Figured it's better than making you sit in front of food you can't eat," Rick shrugs in self-deprecation, "And I'm still sorry about that, by the way."

Kate waves her hand at him, completely dismissive of his apology with the gesture, "Like I said before, it's completely fine. There's plenty of time for indulgent food later on. How'd that runner's interview go today?"

He shrugs. "Bailed. Sent his agent with apologies and a request for a list of questions that he can be prepared to answer in a day or two. His first article is probably going to take longer than the rest."

"Sorry to hear that," she says, giving him a sympathetic look, before raising her eyebrows, "Wait, is that why you wanted to hang out? Since your original plans fell through?"

Rick huffs at her, entirely indignant when he glances towards Kate, " _No_ , that's not why. You're going to be gone until Monday night, and you told me that cell service sucks down there. I figured the least I could do is say goodbye in person," he says, feeling how his cheeks have grown warm as he adds the final piece to his small speech, "And good luck, too."

Kate laughs, nudging his swing with the edge of her converse to send him swaying back and forth. "Well, that's nice of you. Thank you."

He chances a quick look at her when he's sure she isn't looking, biting back a grin as the blue cast of the street lights near the fenced edge of the park give off the deep colour painting her cheeks. At least he's not the only one blushing.

"What's training camp like, anyway?" Rick asks, voice pitched with blatant curiosity that he assumes she's used to from him by now. He's trying to picture where she's heading off to, lighting up at the prospect of Kate going down there and knocking everyone dead with her abilities. "All I can see in my head is a bunch of militant-type gymnasts all training in unison."

She snorts at his description. "Well, that's not too far off actually. Our warm ups and strength training over there are led by the national team coordinator, who could definitely stand in for a sergeant. She's scary."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Her name's Daria Karayeva, and she used to be this Russian Olympic gymnast back in the eighties. Won everything too. She's brought the old school style training here in order for us to be better than the rest of the world."

Rick raises his eyebrows. "That's a pretty hefty order."

"It really is. Not all of the coaches agree with her all of the time about training methods, but no one can say that they don't work."

"Training methods? What's she like in the gym?"

"Super terrifying," Kate says with a long sigh, wrinkling up her nose at the memory before she shares it with him, "She made a junior gymnast cry once because the poor girl forgot her beam choreography and started improvising half-way. What she expects from national team members is perfection, no mistakes whatsoever. If not, you won't get to compete anywhere. By the time competitions arrive, she's trained us all to be total robots."

He's heard enough, watched enough YouTube videos, and done enough research for his stories on Kate to recognize the results of Karayeva's leadership for the gymnasts. Compared to others around the world, the American team usually exuded confidence with the rarest display of nerves. That alone made it likely that they would avoid mistakes in competition. Truthfully, Rick was just impressed that they didn't cower under the glare the woman would sometimes direct at them from the sidelines. "She's still scary to you, even after coming back older from college?"

Kate nods, her expression comically serious. "Oh, yeah. Some gymnasts are fine with her, but those are the ones who are on her good side. Since I didn't get to compete much as a senior on the elite level because of my knee, we didn't really get to…" she trails off for a moment, scrunching up the tip of her nose as her brain spins for the right word, "...bond." she finishes with an eye roll at herself for the odd description, " But, yeah, she still watches me with those suspicious hawk eyes. Unnerving, to say the least."

Rick laughs at that, trying to imagine the fearless gymnast cowering in front of an older woman who was far shorter than Kate. "Man, that would be so interesting to watch. Training camp, I mean. To be behind the scenes, able to see how the team all comes together."

"Sometimes media came to cover stories for the senior gymnasts before big competitions when I was younger," Kate shrugs, "but they haven't come in a while. Maybe they did during the training camps prior to the London Olympics? Though I wasn't at those since I was injured and all, so I can't say."

"Really?" Rick asks, eyes lighting up. His mind is already swirling with possibilities for the next couple articles, how he'd get to write about yet another side of Kate the world hasn't seen. He'll have to book a flight right away, or arrive late since the camp starts tomorrow, and if he wants to cover everything he'll have to act fast…

"-I don't think it happens any more, though," Kate's voice cuts through his internal planning, "bet Daria banned it because she doesn't want all of her training secrets to get out," she snorts.

"Huh?" Rick looks over to her, slightly disoriented with his head still in planning mode. Judging from the look that she gives him, he obviously missed her explanation of the current status of journalists embedded at the U.S. Senior National Camp.

He takes a wild guess that it was negative. Not that he'd really be stopped by pesky things known as rules. They're more like suggestions to Rick.

"Oh. Too bad. Would have been a pretty cool thing to do," he says nonchalantly, giving her an over pronounced shrug of his shoulders that Kate absolutely doesn't buy, if he judges the way her lips unwillingly quirk in the hint of a smile.

Not that it lasts for long. All too soon, she has crossed her arms, eyebrows raised in silent skepticism, "Were you seriously thinking about coming to watch training camp?"

"I mean, just an idea!" he shrugs, maybe a bit too fast to be believable as the truth. It's definitely less a random idea and more of a full-fledged plan that he fully intends on carrying out. "Besides, the logistics probably wouldn't work out well anyway. Probably too late to clear it with the team federation by now, since it starts tomorrow."

He's pretty good at getting in places on short notice for writing assignments, so this national team camp shouldn't be too hard to access. It could add another layer to the blog posts, showing the competition between Kate and the other gymnasts from the country at her level.

Was he crazy? Possibly. But he'd long ago made a personal promise to honour his writer's integrity which began and ended with one statement: Anything for the story.

Besides, a cutthroat, competitive Kate Beckett is something he absolutely can't miss.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Extra thanks to Dee for being the best beta anyone could ask for, and Em for being a typo ninja.


	5. Chapter 5

Nestled on the edge of the Sam Houston National Forest, the buildings of the U.S Women's Olympic Gymnastics Training Center are surrounded by trees stretching out as far as one could see. The melodic songs of birds perched in the highest branches and the small glimpses of wildlife through the leaves gave the impression that the training center was nestled in some remote area, rather than an hour north of one of the largest metro areas in the country.

"The Ranch," as the training center is nicknamed, comes pretty close to being one. The center and its adjoining buildings are home to Daria Karayeva, national team coordinator, and her husband Dmitri, who preferred maintaining the land and surrounding buildings to coaching gymnastics. With the arrival of a couple hundred girls, the serene atmosphere usually prevalent throughout the forest had been disturbed.

Kate never got tired of looking up at the trees, the wildlife, the nature surrounding the training center. The endless lines of trees are so different from Manhattan and its concrete jungle, constant traffic, and crowded sidewalks filled with people who all had places to be. Outside the training buildings, the only sounds in the forest are of the animals, reminding her of the cabin her parents had taken her to as a kid, before her mom passed away and their family retreat had become a refuge only for her dad.

In a way, the Sam Houston Forest that she visits every month is hers.

To an outsider, the scattering of buildings hidden in the woods look like the farthest thing from a training facility. It's the imposing front gate, with a sign reading _U.S Olympic Training Site,_ which gives the whole thing an air of authenticity. Pulling her suitcase past it, Kate feels a shiver of anticipation run through her veins. Despite coming to training camp for years, she still hasn't gotten tired of seeing the words _Olympic Training Site._

Still, she follows close behind Montgomery, swatting away a mosquito as they enter into the main training building. Like every time she comes to camp, Kate finds herself looking up in awe. Automatically imposing to anyone wishing to enter, the training center resembles a warehouse due to its sheer size. It's three times bigger than her home gym, which is small by necessity to fit into the city's compact architecture.

Montgomery turns back towards her as they pass through the entrance hallway adorned with pictures of past American gymnastics champions. "You ready?"

She shrugs. "As much as I can be." Over the past couple of days, she had done the Amanar vault into the foam pit over and over to reassure herself that she had the confidence to do it at camp. It was fine at home, but camp was a completely different environment. It was stressful, pressure filled, and had higher stakes.

Montgomery gives her a knowing smile, reading the doubts that Kate hasn't allowed herself to put a voice to. "You'll be fine. And even if you're not, we'll go back home at the end and work on it. There's still time before Olympic trials. Also…" His sentence trails off, eyes flickering behind her for a second and darting past other people in the hallway. He shakes his head at her questioning glance, looking like he wants to add something else to his spiel before deciding against it, "this camp is going to be an interesting one."

Kate looks at him in curiosity as they emerge into the giant facility. "What do you mean?"

Montgomery just laughs, shaking his head. "You'll see."

The floor of the main training center is entirely covered in mats, chalk footprints decorating the soft blue surface. Athletes who have arrived early are already scattered on a line of balance beams, executing skills with precision. The red spring floor behind the beams is also in use by a young junior gymnast practicing her floor routine choreography, her instrumental music floating through the overhead speakers. Two vaulting tables run along the perimeter of one of the room's walls, which are adorned with banners from Olympic and World Championships and, in another display of patriotism and a gentle reminder of where they are, an oversized American flag.

Before Kate has the chance to say anything else, she's interrupted by a booming voice. "Roy, there you are!"

Kate jumps, tearing her eyes away from the gymnasts on beam to see the coach and namesake of Braun's gymnastics, Mitchell Braun, embracing Montgomery. Despite the competition level, many of the coaches are close friends – after all, the trials and tribulations of training elite athletes in such a demanding sport could only be understood by others doing the same.

"Good to see you, Mitch," Montgomery returns the embrace wholeheartedly, clapping the coach on the back. "How's your crew? Did those strengthening exercises help for Charlotte's stress fracture?"

"They did indeed. She's back to full training and came to camp, actually. Pretty close call with the timing. Speaking of timing," Braun turns towards Kate, who had been watching the coaches' reunion in amusement, "how's that knee?"

She shrugs. "Holding up for now. Hopefully it stays that way." She likes Braun. He's friendly to all of the gymnasts on the national team, not just his own.

As the two coaches turn back towards each other to catch up, Kate gives them a wave and trudges across the giant room with her suitcase behind her. Aware of the fact that she's still in plainclothes and not her leotard, she heads out the back door, leaving the gym behind in favour of the dorms to remedy the situation. Crossing the dirt path from the training center towards the smaller, one story dorm building, she wonders whom she'll be rooming with this time.

When Kate came to training camp as a junior, she'd become friends with many of her national teammates over the years. However, while injured and then away at college, most of her peers had graduated and moved on. Now, most of the gymnasts here are significantly younger than she is, with the senior gymnasts still in high school and the juniors being even smaller. Since returning to elite level and the training camps, she's been getting to know this newer, younger team.

Even so, Kate can admit that it feels strange to be considered 'old' at only twenty.

In her younger years, she used to room with Maddie. But during her comeback she's been lucky, being paired with gymnasts that she doesn't know but who are generally friendly and respect her space. There are always some she hoped to avoid, such as the athletes from Texas Elite Gymnastics. At least five of them always came to camp and they moved in a pack, antagonizing anyone who wasn't part of their circle. She remembers a particular incident involving a pink velvet leotard and the sheep on Dmitri's farm and shudders. Even now, years later, she's still wary of anyone from that gym.

Kate walks along the long porch of the dorm building, trying to find the door with her name on it. Hers is the second last one, the words "KATE BECKETT" on a paper sign taped above the door handle. Her name is followed by "ANN HASTINGS," making her smile.

Ann is a newly senior gymnast this year, having just turned sixteen. Like Kate, she's gunning to make the Rio team, and her determination sets her apart from the other first year seniors, who often faltered in the face of their new rank.

She opens up the door to find Ann on the other side, standing in the space between their twin beds and flicking her arms swiftly while her eyes focus on the position of her feet.

To anyone else, it would probably appear as if the girl is slightly nuts. However, Kate's done the same thing as her before. Quite often, in fact, as Ann is only practicing her balance beam choreography.

Dropping her suitcase on her bed, Kate sidles up to her roommate, waving her hands in front of Ann's incredibly focused eyes.

"Wha- Oh! Kate!"

Dropping her hands, Ann's face lights up as she envelops Kate in a hug. "You're here!"

Kate laughs, returning the embrace. "Indeed. Our flight got delayed but we made it. It's great to see you."

Pulling back, Ann takes a couple of steps backwards and falls onto her bed. "You too. The three and a half weeks between each camp can feel so long sometimes."

Kate pulls her suitcase beside her own bed, opening it and rummaging around for appropriate gym attire. "How's school? Friends? Catch me up."

Still in high school, Ann had chosen to forgo home schooling unlike a lot of other elite gymnasts. Like Kate's own experience, Ann's social life is limited by her training, not that it has reduced the blonde's talent for adding drama to her stories. They always end up making Kate laugh.

At the suggestion of catching her up, Ann sits up quickly, crossing her legs and leaning forward as if to tell a secret. "Well, let me tell you about the time last week when my best friend Macy's boyfriend challenged me to an arm wrestling contest, thinking he could win against _these_ guns…"

* * *

Half an hour later, dressed for the gym, completely unpacked, and now caught up on the drama of Ann's life, Kate leaves her dorm with a wave to her roommate, still laughing at the girl's summary of her month. She likes rooming with the younger gymnast, appreciating whenever they are paired together. In a lot of ways, Ann reminds Kate a lot of herself when she was that age, though she hopes that her friend will have an easier time towards making the Olympic team for Rio than her own experience in 2012.

It would be quite an adventure if both of them made the team for Rio.

During her walk back towards the main training center, Kate shakes off her fondness of Ann and turns her mind towards gymnastics; beginning her ritual that she goes through every camp – rehearsing her routines one by one in her head. Getting that mental practice in always helps with feeling confident when actually on the apparatus in the training center.

Going over the last bit of floor choreography in her head, Kate begins to imagine her final tumbling run before the ending pose. She's so focused on how she would land if she were actually doing the routine that she doesn't see the person coming up in front of her on the path.

It's not until she actually collides with what feels like a wall that she realizes who she's bumped into. Someone significantly taller than her, blue eyes big and sparkling down at her as he raises his hands that are clutching a notebook and pen in an apologetic sort of way.

She knows those eyes, and that smile, and the floppy, artfully arranged hair. With a gasp, Kate jumps backwards, eyes wide and mouth hanging open while she draws in a breath and takes in the last person she expected to see in the middle of Texas.

" _Rick?!"_

* * *

To his credit, he didn't think that it would _actually_ work, that this idea would truly come together. After all, he only had a day to plan it out. But, now that he has successfully gotten access to the national training center grounds, Rick wishes he had given it all a bit more thought.

For one, he hadn't planned on Kate's reaction. Not really. He'd thought she'd be happy, at least amused, possibly flattered. Definitely not the slightly annoyed look that's painted on her face as she stands in front of him.

"What are you even doing here?" she asks, arms crossing in that universally defensive stance.

"Um, I can explain?" Rick replies quickly, his sentence turning up at the end in question.

Getting in wasn't too hard, really. Hitching a ride from the airport, he strolled past the gates like he belonged there and into the giant building right behind it, before getting stopped by an imposing fellow in a 'Coach' t-shirt. He spent twenty minutes trying to convince the man, who was getting more and more suspicious by the second, that he was the new "social media manager," a title he had made up in his head as he said it. And then he had launched into a long winded and largely made up discussion about the online presence of the sport and how it needed a push until he was interrupted by a surprised laugh, one that turned out to belong to Montgomery.

With a definitive _"He's with me, Mitch"_ Rick was in. And then the man had taken him aside, and instructed him to take up the role of his assistant coach. Going back to his lack of planning, Rick had known journalists weren't allowed at training camps, and he'd been prepared to lie his way in, but he hadn't planned for the whole weekend.

But, now, he was the unofficial assistant coach, despite knowing not nearly enough about the sport to pull it off, having promised not to draw unnecessary attention to himself or detract the focus on Kate.

The title had come with some concessions, one of which had been to take Montgomery's suitcase to the coaches' dorms. Already he knew that the man was going to have a little fun at Rick's expense, not that he minded. It would be worth it to do some grunt work for this exclusive, to watch Kate in her element, and get a real impression of the camp that he could never manage simply from an interview.

So he had ambled along the dirt path connecting all the buildings, notebook in hand, trying to get a feel for his first impressions of the place. He had written down little details for future articles, everything from the chirp of crickets in the forest to how they were routinely drowned out by the urgent voices of coaches shouting from the main building. There were kids no older than twelve, all of them small and looking intimidated by the senior girls in their national team jackets. There were other girls, he'd estimate in their mid to late teens, with eager eyes and determination watching like hawks, ready for their own shot at owning that coveted clothing item.

And then he had, literally, bumped into Kate. Who had gone from annoyed to slightly amused with his fumbling attempt to head her off at the pass. Even so, he found himself slightly intimidated when faced with that cool stare and those raised eyebrows.

"How did you even get in here?" She shakes her head in disbelief, looking around to see if anyone else outside has noticed him.

"Such a warm welcome," Rick says with a grin, finding his balance at that light teasing. "I didn't think you'd be so upset to see a familiar face."

It's probably wrong how much glee he can get from the eye roll Kate directs at him, though it's in part because she looks a breath away from tapping her foot on the dirt path in irritation at his stalling.

"...Montgomery covered for me," he says quickly, "According to your coach, he doesn't mind taking on an assistant coach for the next couple of days."

He almost laughs at the comical expression on Kate's face. " _Montgomery_ 's involved in this?!"

Rick shrugs. "He's excited about the story, what can I say?" Even with the knowledge that her coach has given the go ahead for him to stay, Kate looks skeptical. He isn't convinced that she'd throw him out on her own merit, but there's no question that if they were caught that it would reflect poorly on Kate.

Still, he can't stand the thought of being turned loose and denied the chance to see her shock everyone with her abilities. Normally he'd say he was above whining but, when it's a big story, when it really matters, Rick certainly knows that he isn't.

"C'mon, Kate, having me around at camp can't be that bad, can it? I'll be good and stay quiet and listen to everything you and Montgomery say," he promises, giving her the three-fingered salute favoured by Boy Scouts, "Scouts honour."

At Kate's snort, he amends his sentence, "Okay, _almost_ everything. Just give it a shot. I'm just here for the story."

At least, that's what he's still trying to tell himself. It's a nagging bit of trouble, this realization of how there was no real reason to spend all that money on a plane ticket to see someone who would come back to the city in a couple of days. There's no doubt he's dedicated to his craft but, at least before Kate, Rick had always been able to draw a line.

For this story, he keeps pushing the line farther and farther away.

One good look at Kate and he knows she's going to fold, the annoyance is for show, to keep him in suspended anxiety for as long as she can. Underneath there's a sparkle to her eye and a twist to her lips that he already knows is her attempt not to laugh. And he can't forget the excitement that had flashed across her face when she'd realized whom she had bumped into.

Despite it all, it's enough to assure him that he made the right decision in coming.

"Okay, Rick," she says after a beat, smiling at the little fist pump of victory that he raises into the air.

Kate turns to continue the walk to the training gym without any prompting, leaving Rick to fall into step behind her. Already his mind is spinning with possibilities for the next article he will write, along with a few pats on the back at his level of dedication to the story.

Because it's just the story that he's thinking about. Nothing else.

* * *

A/N: I am so sorry for such a late update. Real life got slightly busier than usual, causing some writing delays, but hopefully future updates will be quicker!


	6. Chapter 6

They step into the a wall of noise inside the training center. In half an hour the place has filled considerably with primarily teenage girls and their coaches; all of them chatting and stretching in a blur of colorful leotards, ponytails and buns.

Montgomery had told him that the first training session would begin at 1 p.m. sharp, just as he'd warned him not to be late. One quick glance at his watch assures Rick that they've arrived with ten minutes to spare, which is fine with him. He definitely needs time to goggle at the sights being presented in the gym.

Kate's still beside him, those brown eyes observing with one slow track across the gym. With her assessment complete, she adjusts the duffle bag on her shoulder, flashing him a brief look of warning that he barely understands before she's up on her tiptoes. The tickle of her breath at his ear stirs up something in him that Rick steadfastly tamps down, swallowing roughly at the low, intimate sound of her voice as it curls around him, "Behave yourself, okay? Do whatever Montgomery tells you to do, and try not to talk very much. Hopefully you won't draw Daria's attention - if you do, we're all going to be in trouble."

She drops back onto her heels once she's said her piece, flashing him one of those clever smiles and a tiny wave. He's still trying to recover from the sudden onslaught of Kate when she makes a neat turn, cutting across the other gymnasts to the far side of the gym to drop off her belongings and start her warm up routine.

Rick doesn't release the breath he hadn't realized he's been holding until she's settled and otherwise occupied. He tries his best to appear nonchalant about her display, to look as if he fits in with the other coaches lingering around in the gym even as his eyes rove across faces in search of Montgomery. It takes a moment before he spots the man standing beside the vault, and Rick orients himself in that direction; weaving through gymnasts both big and small, giving a polite smile to a couple of coaches who catch his eye.

By the time he reaches the man, he's accidentally flirted with a blonde member of the medical staff and nearly stumbled over a fluffy dog that could easily be confused with a small sheep. Even though the animal brings up a host of questions, he bites down on the need to ask, instead raising his eyebrows at the concentration that's etched onto Montgomery's face.

"Kate's not the only one who needs to visualize a good vault," he shrugs, reading Rick's puzzled expression perfectly. "Most of the time I have to calm my nerves just as much as she does."

At his nod of understanding Montgomery passes over a duffle bag with a wink and a smile that only grows wider when Rick tilts a bit with the unexpected weight, "For you, assistant coach."

"Really? You're going to do this the entire time?"

"Why not? I say it's a pretty fair trade off for the both of us," Montgomery laughs, clapping him on the back. "Now, come on. Daria's going to start the lineup any minute."

His mouth is open to ask what the 'lineup' is when a four foot nothing woman in her mid fifties, clutching the aforementioned fluffy dog Rick nearly stepped on, strides past him and onto the floor.

The moment her feet touch the red flooring, the atmosphere in the training center changes. The background chatter of the gymnasts evaporates, and last minute tips from coaches die away. The fluffy dog doesn't even dare to make a sound, but there is a moment of suspended animation before the world seems to right itself. The athletes nearly sprint to the floor, dropping whatever they're holding without a second thought to form a ruler-straight line facing the woman and her little dog.

He doesn't need Montgomery to tell him that the woman in question is Daria Karayeva. Rick had done his research on the head coach of the National Team but now, seeing her standing in front of all these athletes, he admits to himself that the photos failed to capture the stern lines of her face as she takes in the gymnasts one by one. Daria might be small, but she radiates power and intimidation, almost as if she's towering over her charges despite being the same height as a majority of the girls.

Despite not being in her line of vision, Rick takes a step behind Montgomery. He has no desire to become an object of that piercing, analytical and all knowing gaze.

With another rough swallow to steel his nerves, he pitches his voice to a whisper. "That's the lineup?" he asks Montgomery, who gives a brief nod of reply. "Every training session at the Ranch starts and ends with lineup. It's where Daria goes over the goals the gymnasts should try to achieve during the session, what the camp is leading up to, things like that. It's basically a very stern pep talk."

The gymnasts have automatically lined up by height; backs ramrod straight and hands by their side. If not for the candy colored leotards, the plethora of athletic tape and the springy ponytails, the girls could pass for soldiers. There's an interesting array of facial expressions, as roughly half of them appear as if they're about to throw up. The others, who Rick notes are mostly the older girls, merely look energized at the challenge and Daria's presence among them.

As the tallest of the team, Kate stands at the far end of the line. To his eye she looks neither nervous nor full of that almost greedy excitement of those closest to her age. She merely looks focused; sheer determination radiating from every inch of her body.

"Welcome back girls. This is our last camp before Olympic Trials begin next month, and you should all take this as an opportunity to show me what you can contribute to that team. I'm hoping to see an improvement over some of your performances from the National Championships."

Rick tries to recall some of the YouTube videos he watched from this year's nationals in his research before meeting Kate. She had placed third in this year's competition, a decent spot for someone still making a comeback to elite gymnastics from the collegiate level. Looking at her now, she has the same steely resolve in her eyes now as she did in those videos. In fact, Kate looks ready to show Daria that she's ready to go to Rio.

"We will follow our usual schedule for the first day of camp," Daria continues, "Fitness testing will begin in five minutes, followed by routine verification in the evening. You are dismissed."

With Daria's announcement of dismissal, the room seems to suck in a collective breath, including Rick. Immediately he's reaching out to tap Montgomery's shoulder, grabbing his attention before another coach comes along to distract him. "That's it?"

It had been intimidating, sure, but he can't help but feel a little disappointed. Where's the inspirational pep talk or the close up, almost prowling inspection that would make them visibly tremble?

"Daria gets straight to the point. She's not really interested in fluff or inspirational speeches. She saves that job for the coaches," Montgomery replies, eyes still out on the floor where Kate is weaving back through the gymnasts and straight towards them.

She's still a few steps away when Rick gives her two thumbs up, not that Kate does more than quirk her lips at him. She's too involved in grabbing a water bottle from the bag Montgomery had pushed on him and taking a long drink. "That lineup looked like the smallest, most cutthroat army I've ever seen. In leotards and scrunchies, no less."

Kate almost chokes on her water with a soft laugh, an easy smile at her mouth when she shakes her head at him. "Oh, you haven't seen anything yet, Rick. Wait till the mock competition starts tomorrow. Some of them might be four feet tall, but they have terrifying death glares."

"You know, sometimes I wish that I could live the lives of the subjects of my articles because they seem so adventurous and exciting. I can't say that this situation is one of them," Rick muses, "It's unnerving."

"We haven't even done anything yet," Kate laughs, raising her eyebrows in some combination of disbelief and amusement. "But give it a couple of minutes," she adds, gesturing towards the floor with her bottle, "These so-called soldiers are going to perform a few tasks of herculean strength for fitness testing."

His forehead is wrinkled up in an unvoiced question when Montgomery starts to chuckle, obviously amused at the surprise and disbelief that Rick is putting on display.

"They may be small, but they could probably kick your ass," Kate winks at him, high fiving Montgomery, "I hope that doesn't bruise your ego, Castle." She grins, draining the last bit of her water and tossing the bottle behind her shoulder before she saunters back towards the training floor.

* * *

" _Wow."_

"That…was something."

"You're telling me. It's definitely one way to make a man feel weak."

Rick follows Montgomery out of the training center, trying his best to keep up while lugging the coach's bags. The first one had been heavy enough, but the man had added two more to the load when fitness testing had ended, leaving him working to control his heavy breathing and not letting his fatigue show from the combination of the extra weight and the hot sun.

"How do they even do that? No one should be able to climb a rope that fast without using their legs. Much less doing it multiple times." Rick shakes his head, "Definitely soldiers in training."

"Don't forget the pushups," Montgomery adds, "I could do that many when I was a college gymnast back in the day. But when I tried to do it a couple of years ago with some of the other coaches, I nearly passed out."

Kate's teasing had been right on the mark. Throughout testing, he'd been torn between scribbling down everything in his notebook and being unwilling to turn away from the action happening in front of him. The gymnasts had rotated between fitness stations in small groups where a coach from the National Team clutched a clipboard and watched them complete tasks that looked impossible for even the most athletic of individuals. There had been rope climbing, leg lifts, planches, pushups, and one station on the red floor containing split jumps beginning in a squatting position that looked particularly painful.

After watching the girls be put through their paces, Rick could see why all the athletic tape was needed. But the more remarkable thing was that none of them had looked fatigued during the exercises. Maybe they were hiding the exhaustion from the coaches in an effort to look more prepared, but there's a feeling in his gut that most of them were truly that unfazed.

"It's incredible. They're incredible. Especially Kate," he says, still working to shake off that wide-eyed expression.

"Yeah, I bet you think she's incredible, Rick," Montgomery says, a twinkle in his eyes that Rick can't quite get a read on.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing," the coach says with a slow smile and a shake of his head.

Ignoring the way his stomach has clenched at what Montgomery might have noticed, Rick admits to himself that it's true. Watching Kate in her home gym had been an experience. He had thought he'd seen how focused and intense she was in New York City, but it couldn't begin to compare to her performance this afternoon at camp. Even while facing off with the best in the country she'd kept her cool and it'd paid off. Kate had come in first among all of the gymnasts, pushing herself harder and performing more reps while somehow managing to make it look effortless.

If this was how she started, he couldn't wait to see what happened in their remaining time at the camp; especially when it came to presenting new routines and skills. She'd been amazing, and it had nothing to do with the fact she's an interesting person or that he'd felt goosebumps across his skin when she had whispered in his ear.

Clearing his throat and pushing out thoughts of both Kate and Montgomery's teasing comment, Rick turns his focus towards gymnastics. "Is Kate still planning to do the Amanar vault?"

"That's the plan. It's not competition ready yet, but it's good enough for camp. She was doing well with it in our last practice at home, but she's still nervous," Montgomery says with a shake of his head. "She's trying to hide it. She always does."

"How can you tell?" Rick asks.

The chuckle he gives is light-hearted, one of a man who has experience on his side. "Son, I've been her coach for more than fifteen years. That's enough to pick up on an athlete's tells; even one as closely guarded as Kate. Part of a coach's job involves being able to sense the difference between what a gymnast is projecting and how they actually feel about their skills."

The itch to write that quote down begins somewhere in his fingers, leaving Rick attempting to shuffle the bags around so that he can grab his notebook and scribble the quote down before it leaves his mind. "That's good. I definitely have to add that to my article."

At his struggle, Montgomery takes pity on him and reaches for his own bags, leaving Rick's load much lighter and an arm free to retrieve the notebook and his pen. He's still jotting down the quote when the man speaks up again, placing one hand on his shoulder to snag his attention.

"We have a bit of a break before lunch and routine verification in the evening. That'll be something you'll want to record for sure. Your first gym meet. But until then, go and write. I'll let you know when it's lunchtime."

* * *

"Kate, really, who is he?" Ann is hot on her heels as they step out of the training center, eyes wide and eager to pluck the information about the 'assistant coach' that none of the gymnasts have ever seen before.

"I have no idea who you're talking about."

As far as Kate is concerned, that's her story. She can play dumb for a couple of days; dodge questions about Rick and what he's doing at the Ranch with her.

"He's hot."

That almost gets her, the tiniest surge of jealousy taking up residence in her abdomen. Not that it means anything. Rick is her friend, someone that she can talk to and who obviously wants her to succeed. They're friends. And, besides all that, Ann is far too young for him.

"Ann, aren't you twelve or something?"

"Um, no, I am sixteen," her friend scoffs, long strides ensuring that she catches up to Kate. "That's older than most of the gymnasts here, anyway."

"That is absolutely notold," Kate sighs, keeping her face neutral even though she can feel the urge to scowl. Rick Castle would never be interested in a hyperactive, if well intentioned, 16 year old.

" _Kaate."_

At the sing-song sound of her name Kate let's go of her irrational annoyance, instead laughing at Ann's flair for the dramatic. At the chuckle, the younger gymnast gives her a playful shove down the path that leads them to the medical building, "Seriously, who is he? He's cute."

"I told you during fitness testing. He's the new assistant coach at our gym," Kate replies.

Ann scoffs again, kicking at the rocks on the gravel path. "Oh yeah, I could definitely see that by his wide eyed expression the entire time. Coach Ruggedly Handsome looked like he was witnessing a miracle. Almost as if he had no idea what was going on."

Kate follows a crowd of senior gymnasts into the building, holding the door open for Ann and giving a slow shrug. "Maybe Montgomery wanted someone with no experience in the sport to give him an outside opinion or something. Maybe he's going to coach me on how to improve stage presence during competition, things like that."

"That is the biggest load of crap I've heard today," Ann snorts as they follow the rest of the gymnasts in the hallway to the physiotherapy corridor of the building, "Don't tell me. Whatever," she adds without malice, breathing out a slow sigh. "He's still hot."

The eye roll that Kate gives her friend has no real heat behind it. By now she's used to Ann thinking at least eight percent of the boys she sees are hot. "What's it to you, anyway? I thought you already had a twelve year old boyfriend?" Kate teases, recalling another one of Ann's tales from a past training camp.

"He's _not_ twelve."

"Sure he isn't," Kate grins.

"He's an artist and says he's going to draw me sometime. I'm still waiting on it. He's in a superhero comic book phase and refuses to draw anything else," Ann sighs.

"So get him to draw _you_ as a superhero," Kate suggests with a shrug, "Best of both worlds or something."

The younger girl's eyes light up, obviously on board with that suggestion. "Nice!"

As Kate releases another laugh, she finds herself wondering what Rick would think of her roommate. Ann never fails to entertain, that was for sure.

Once they approach the physiotherapy room, her friend drops her bag beside Kate's before heading in the opposite direction. Alphabetical order for physiotherapy meant that Ann Hastings had a bit of a wait ahead of her while Kate would been seen far quicker. She watches her roommate slip into an adjoining room aptly nicknamed "The Arctic" due to the sheer amount of ice present. Gymnasts waiting their turn could relax their muscles in the ice baths, to soothe pain and calm inflammation.

Blowing out a breath, Kate leans against the wall, her eyes tracking the room filled with massage tables, weights, and other tools of the trade that would allow all of them to recover quickly. On one of the tables there's a girl wincing as she is looked over by the lone medical doctor on the Ranch staff, someone that Kate is grateful she doesn't need help from. At least, not yet. There's a lingering concern that her damaged knee might need some assistance but she shoves it aside. There's no pain right now, there rarely is immediately after a practice. The pain usually comes a couple hours later, when she begins to regret the strenuous training.

She gives half a thought to asking for some physical therapy after the evening session, but all too soon her mind begins to wander. Fitness testing had gone smoothly, proving that all her preparation with Montgomery had paid off. She'd even seen Daria flash a rare smile of approval after her rope climbs. One part of camp down, only a couple days to go. She hoped that she could get through the rest of them just as easily.

She'd be lying to herself if she said she wasn't worried about routine verification later in the day. Her bars, beam, and floor routines weren't bothersome, as she was able to pick up elite skills on those apparatuses quickly. Her worry, as usual, was the vault. Specifically, the Amanar.

It was a psychological block. She could do it. In fact, she had done it countless times over the past couple of days. But that was at home, not at camp.

Would she be able to do the same thing while being stared down by Daria and the other gymnasts? While witnessing other senior girls who could perform their vaults with confidence and ease? Would she hold up?

She had to do it. She had to prove to herself that she could. She had to get on that Olympic team in a month. And to do that, she'd have to have the Amanar.

And that was without Castle. She wasn't going to lie to herself and pretend she couldn't feel Rick's presence in the gym. She had told herself not to look at him during testing, not to allow those blue eyes and that grin filter into her thoughts and shake her focus, but she had looked. They'd locked eyes multiple times as she went through the stations, and each time she had quickly looked away, praying that she wouldn't be distracted.

It hadn't worked as well as Kate had wished. And that was why she'd pushed herself so hard, worked in the extra reps on the activities. It most certainly wasn't to impress him or to put that awed twinkle in his eye. No, she was just trying to outshine the other girls. To make Daria happy.

Despite that, Kate finds herself considering what Rick might think if she landed her vault in tonight's session. There's a brief flutter of happiness and nerves before the bubble pops, that lingering anxiety about the other side of the story floating in to rob her of the positive. If she fails, the story would change quickly, altering the narrative that he's been crafting and possibly changing his perception of her.

He wouldn't see her differently if she couldn't do it, would he? Would he want to focus on someone else rather than document her shortcomings?

Giving a shake of her head, Kate shoves the thought aside, renewing her resolve to not let Rick affect her. Not here, not at camp where there is too much at stake. And it doesn't matter anyway, at least that's what she tells herself. Rick Castle is only here to write a story. The trials and tribulations of Olympic level sports where she's one of many athletes.

She's one of several. No reason to get worked up about it.

It's what she tries to remind herself when her name is finally called and she heads towards an empty massage table, trying to get the writer off of her mind.

* * *

A/N Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, I really appreciate it. :)


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